


In Detail

by secret_ivy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Don't copy to another site, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:55:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23335735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secret_ivy/pseuds/secret_ivy
Summary: They make plans for the day.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 7
Kudos: 78
Collections: Soft Smut Sunday





	In Detail

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. The spiritual sequel to _Incentive_ , because they both work too hard AND there aren’t enough fics with them whispering sexy things to each other.
> 
> 2\. I was originally going to post this for Soft Smut Sunday. It is Thursday, so. Lol.

Greg wakes up wrapped in warmth and soft cotton. It takes him a moment to register the fingers stroking along his lower ribs and hip, familiar and firm enough not to tickle. He doesn’t move.

Their phones are close by on the dresser, volume on, but they had been silent, their screens dark since last night. The last several weeks, between finally getting an airtight arrest for a double homicide involving a football coach and a bloody situation that may or may not have happened on the border of Pakistan and India, made them both need a break to rest and recover.

It’s been a rarity as of late, them both in bed on a Sunday, with the line of sunlight from the window indicating late morning.

Anthea, bless her, is aggressively filtering and delegating anything less than the apocalypse until Monday afternoon on Mycroft’s behalf. At the end of his shift, Donovan and Dimmock had taken a long look at Greg and promptly told him to, “Go the fuck home. We’ll make sure the paperwork is nice and ready for you when you get back.” His team was made up of a bunch of arseholes, but damn if Greg wasn’t proud of them.

His thoughts are broken by pressure just behind his ear, lips and a puff of breath.

“Good morning, Gregory,” Mycroft whispers. They’re pressed gently together under the blanket – two commas not even a space apart. Greg is in his usual pajama bottoms, shirtless, so he can feel the body-warmed cotton of Mycroft’s pajama top against his back.

“Good mornin’, My,” Greg replies just as softly, shifting to press their bodies just a bit more firmly together.

They stay like that for a long while, in wordless basking, Mycroft still caressing Greg’s side. In the calm and warmth, Greg goes a little unfocused, just feeling his lover’s lips moving along the back of his neck. They wander once to trace his hairline, and then back to the spot behind his ear, the joint of his neck and shoulder, any exposed skin in easy reach. The fingers touching him turn into a large, warm hand, the unhurried loop extending from below his rib cage to his waist to the outside of his thigh and back up again.

“Is there anything you would like to do today? Late lunch at _Charlotte's_?” Mycroft asks, gently breaking their bubble. He made the reservations last night. By his internal clock, they have plenty of time to get ready, so he lets his tongue have a taste of Greg’s skin. Mycroft feels, his hand drifting closer and closer to sensitive inner thighs, that it has been much too long since their last day off together.

“Mmm, that would be nice. Their cinnamon sugar lattes were delicious.” Greg tries to go for nonchalant. He misses a little, if the hitch in his breath is any indication. He gradually breaks away from Mycroft’s touch and lays on his back. He turns his head to lock eyes with Mycroft’s grey-blue ones. Licks his bottom lip. Spreads his legs open in invitation.

Mycroft stays on his side, staring. His eyes sweep down and up, lingering on the valley formed by Greg’s legs. He takes a steadying breath before reaching out to pull Greg’s face closer.

Greg grips Mycroft’s pajama top with one hand. He presses his other hand on top of the one cradling his face. Their first proper kiss of the day is firm and wet in the best way. So are the following few that they don't think to count.

“Is there anything else you would like to do?” Mycroft asks when they break apart for air. One of his hands has moved on to stroke Greg’s jaw. His other hand takes a hold of Greg’s knee and uses it to slowly pull open the man’s legs even more.

Greg lets out a low moan, “Yes,” and pulls them back into another kiss.

He can feel Mycroft’s hardness against his leg, rubs against it, teasing. Mycroft answers with a groan and runs his nails down Greg’s inner thigh in retaliation.

Another break for air, the duvet shoved to the foot of the bed.

Greg takes in how uneven Mycroft’s breathing is, how blown his pupils are. Greg tugs at Mycroft’s clothes, trying very hard not to just tear everything off. “I want you naked. I want to touch you.”

Mycroft shivers at the hunger in Greg’s face, at the rapidly escalating need to get anything and everything between them out of the way.

"What else, you lovely man? _What else?_ ” Mycroft wants to hear it. He could read it, and he does, in the way Gregory had shamelessly spread his legs, in the way this stunning man had moaned, but by God, he wants to hear each word out loud. It’s been too long, the last few weeks filled with more texts and phone calls than usual. Both of them had been too stressed and exhausted to do more than have short, agitated snogs in the brief times their schedules had even allowed them to be in the same room as each other.

Greg replies first with dragging their mouths back together. His hand blindly reaches for the top drawer next to the bed, catching on the handle. He gets distracted by Mycroft moving onto his chest, sucking marks along his collarbone, so it takes him a few tries before he successfully grasps the bottle of lube and drops it on the bed in easy reach.

Four free hands make quick work of their sleeping clothes. In the next breath, Mycroft is slotted between Greg’s legs, cradled by them and hips and gentle arms. He feels lips press into his jaw, right below his ear, a frequently abused weak spot. Mycroft caresses Greg’s arms and sides. He breathes in their laundry detergent and their mixed scents, his face nuzzled into the space between neck and shoulder. He waits.

Greg adjusts a little more, slides both his hands from smooth, freckled shoulders to vulnerable lower back, all that delicious skin available to him, makes sure they’re properly tucked together, finally, _finally_. He presses another wet kiss into Mycroft’s jaw before whispering:

“I want this, full skin to skin contact. I want your mouth and your hands, and I want to feel you come.” The click of the bottle opening. A hot, panting breath against his neck. “I want to feel your hips do that hot, little jerk when you do. Want to make a filthy mess with you, Mycroft.” Greg lets out a low moan when Mycroft’s right hand, scorching and slick with lube, takes a hold of both of them.

“And then we'll clean up and go out. Eat and be respectable citizens. Maybe take a stroll to walk off our meal,” Greg chuckles breathlessly. He nibbles and licks the ear lobe closest to him - high and a little wild on Mycroft’s usually steadfast control crumbling under his hands. He can feel the other man's shivers against his calves and thighs. Takes a greedy hold of Mycroft’s arse and grinds their bodies together.

“Then we’ll come home and have each other again. Slower. Slower, but just as messy,” Greg barely gets out before Mycroft finally has enough and claims his mouth while stroking them harder, faster.

There’s no teasing left in them. The wet softness of their mouths, the frantic slick sound between them, together, fries the rest of Greg’s senses. Mycroft isn’t far behind, getting his requested dose of Greg’s desires straight into his ears and brain, shutting the rest of the world away.

* * *

“When did you make the reservation?” Greg asks, aimlessly stroking Mycroft’s shoulders with his hands. They’re still in bed, Mycroft laying boneless, half on top of Greg. Mycroft smiles and rubs his cheek against Greg’s chest.

“1:30 p.m.” He had requested a table in the covered patio. Gregory enjoys petting the dogs that would wander close and happily introduce themselves.

Greg hums. He presses one, two kisses into Mycroft’s soft curls.

They stay in bed for a little while longer.


End file.
